


composed of broken bones

by wreckofherheart



Series: A Director's Will [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alzheimer's Disease, F/F, Older Woman/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4437044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Sequel to <b>and the lights run out</b>.]</p><p> </p><p>  <i>If Natasha had a choice, she would stay here. She would stay under this roof, watch over Peggy until the Alzheimer’s kills her. She would live with her. There’s nobody else she’d rather be with.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>And when Peggy’s Alzheimer’s progresses to the point where she remembers nothing, then Natasha will play along. She’ll pretend. She’ll live in her memory, she’ll be whoever Peggy wants her to be.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>That’s how Natasha has always lived. As somebody else.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Except, at least this time, she could pretend with a smile. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     ‘There are a few exercises we will go through together, and each time you visit me, we’ll continue do these exercises. It is very simple, Peggy––do you mind if I call you Peggy? Anyway, yes, it’s all very simple. You needn’t worry. First, I shall say four words, and you are to repeat them back to me.’

 

     ‘Very well.’

 

     ‘Right. These are the four words: truck, house, bird, ladder. Did you catch that?’

 

     ‘Truck, house, bird, ladder.’

 

     ‘Excellent. Now, what is my name?’

 

     ‘Doctor Webber.’

 

     ‘What is your oldest son called?’

 

     ‘James.’

 

     ‘And your youngest?’

 

     ‘Harry.’

 

     ‘The name of your daughter-in-law?’

 

     ‘Kiera. Doctor, is this really necessary?’

 

     ‘I’m sorry, Peggy. I don’t mean to frustrate you, but this will give me a better understanding as to how far your Alzheimer’s has progressed. Your memory, so far, seems pretty intact. I’m very pleased, Peggy, and you should be as well. Quite a number of patients with early on-set Alzheimer’s lose their memory quite rapidly, but yours is going at a gradual pace.’

 

     ‘Is that so, doctor?’ She’s not too sure if she believes him. ‘Well, one day I will not remember this event. I’d rather you didn’t throw false hope my way. Now, please, continue.’

 

     ‘Okay.’ He raises his hands in defence. ‘Repeat those four words to me.’

 

     ‘Truck, house, bird, ladder.’

 

     ‘The name of your husband?’

 

     ‘I do not have one, doctor.’

 

     ‘Ah, s––sorry. Your _ex_.’

 

     Peggy sighs heavily, and glances at her watch. ‘I’m afraid our session is over, doctor. I must return to the office.’ She stands, and shoves on her coat. ‘Is  there anything you’d like me to do until our next appointment?’

 

     Rather miffed that his patient has decided to leave on her own terms, Doctor Webber nods. ‘Yes. Remember those four words, and if you have an episode––any sort of episode––where you forget something, write it down. Tell me what happens. If you have nothing to report, then that’s a happy day for all of us.’

 

     ‘Quite. Farewell, doctor.’

 

     ‘Good bye, Director. Take care.’

~

     Each time Peggy keeps rewinding the video recording, her assistant grows more and more concerned. There, on the screen, is The Black Widow. On the _bloody_ news. It’s not that which irritates the Director, though. It’s more the fact that Natasha, for some absurd reason, reaches for the target’s helicopter by 1) jumping off a _building_ and 2) hanging by its wheels. 

 

     Natasha Romanoff is on her screen, dangling from a helicopter while bullets are being sprayed at her. And yet, miraculously, she survived. She hauled herself inside the helicopter, beat up the cronies, and actually piloted the helicopter down to land, with her targets tied up. Peggy rewinds the tape to the very moment Natasha throws herself off the building. 

 

     Was this all planned, or does Natasha make it up as she goes along? Did she know she’d be able to hang off the wheels (which is remarkable in itself)? Or was it pure luck? Also, was it The Black Widow’s intention to hit the front page newspapers tomorrow morning? Since when was Natasha _this_ reckless? Peggy pauses the tape moments before Natasha catches the wheels. 

 

     ‘Adams,’ she says pleasantly, turning to her anxious assistant. ‘Be a dear. Send in The Black Widow. I think we’re due for a little chat.’

 

     Her assistant raises his brows, very tempted to ask if Peggy is truly mad. ‘I wish I could, Director, but the last time I tried to she refused to cooperate.’

 

     ‘And what did you do?’

 

     ‘I, uh, might have blackmailed her a bit. That doesn’t excuse her for arriving at my door––I don’t know how she found out my address––and then saying  that the next time I blackmail her, she’ll make sure that I spend the rest of my life eating through a straw.’

 

     ‘Are you frightened?’ There is a hint of a smile. 

 

     Adams doesn’t appreciate Peggy’s amusement. ‘No,’ he replies moodily.

 

     ‘Oh. Marvellous. Then, do what I tell you to do, please. If she causes you any difficulty, then she's more than welcome to voice her complaints to me.’

 

     ‘Do you think that’ll work?’

 

     ‘Certainly.’

 

     ‘You know her better than I do, I suppose,’ Adams murmurs, and walks in the direction of his desk. 

 

     Peggy presses the remote control to her lower lip. In her head, she goes through the multiple consequences that may derive from this situation, and most of these multiple consequences involve Natasha walking out of headquarters. With absolutely no intention of coming back. 

 

     That won’t be the first time.

 

     ‘Director?’

 

     ‘Yes, dear?’

 

     ‘The Black Widow is en route.’

 

     ‘Very good. Thank you. You see? That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’ Adams grumbles. Peggy switches off the television, and passes him the remote control. ‘My son will be calling in a few hours. Tell him I’ll call back when I have the time.’ Adams nods. ‘Also, cancel my four o’clock appointment with Doctor Webber next Wednesday.’ She checks her watch. ‘The President has requested a meeting. I suppose it would be rather rude of me not to attend.’

 

     Adams smirks. ‘He _is_ pretty fond of you, Director. But, sure, no problem. Shall I reschedule your appointment?’

 

     ‘No, no. I’ll sort it.’ 

 

     ‘I suggest you don’t delay, Director.’

 

     ‘And I suggest you keep your suggestions to yourself.’ She smiles crookedly. ‘I’ll be in my office until five.’

 

     ‘Need me to remind you when that is?’

 

     ‘Very funny.’

 

     Despite the gossip, being Director of _Shield_ isn’t all fun and glory. In fact, the job mainly involves sitting behind a desk, going through paperwork, fixing the mistakes of her agents, and attending tediously dry meetings. Rarely––if ever––does the Director work outside in the field. Peggy misses that thrill, that adrenaline; how brilliant it felt to hold a gun, the suspense in keeping tabs on a target, communicating in Morse Code. Pretending to be somebody else entirely.

 

     She is busy reading through an agent’s report, when she remembers her son intends to call her later today. Peggy completely forgot! What with Natasha arriving, and all of this work on her desk, she doesn’t have the time to chat with him. As much as she’d love to. Peggy leaves her desk, pokes her head out of her office door. ‘Adams, can you do me a favour?’

 

     ‘Yes, ma’am.’

 

     ‘My son will be calling me later on. Can you tell him I’ll ring him back?’

 

     Adams doesn’t respond straightaway. He looks at her, puzzled and a little amused. Does he thinks he’s playing a joke? Peggy raises her brows expectantly, to which he straightens and nods his head.

 

     ‘Uh, yes, Director.’

 

     ‘Thank you.’

 

     ‘Director?’

 

     ‘What is it?’

 

     Adams opens his mouth to speak, then snaps his jaw shut. ‘Nothing. Sorry.’ He taps his temple with his pen. ‘It’s gone, sorry.’ Peggy returns into her office. 

 

     An hour passes. Two hours. Peggy still has her nose deep in the heaps of paperwork on her desk, some now scattered across the floor. A new experiment is currently being tested, and, so far, the results have been fruitless. Her scientists have insisted they would like to continue with the experimentation, to which Peggy is reluctant. She allows them one more chance.

 

     The door opens, and she looks up when The Black Widow steps through. Peggy lowers the sheet in her hand. ‘Good evening, agent.’

 

     Natasha drags a chair over, and sits opposite. ‘You called.’

 

     ‘I did.’ Peggy deposits her pen. ‘Congratulations, Miss Romanoff. Since one o’clock this afternoon, you have been on everybody’s television screen. No matter. Tomorrow, your face will be everywhere. Especially your thoughtless actions to not only jump out of one of the tallest buildings in New York, but also dangle from the wheels of a blasted helicopter.’

 

     ‘Did you really bring me in just to scold me like your child?’

 

     ‘Well, someone has to. Frankly, dear, I’ve been very lenient about you gallivanting off to wherever you so please. I ordered you to appear a few days ago for a briefing, which you failed to attend. Not even an apology from you.’

 

     ‘Are you hurt?’

 

     ‘Deeply.’

 

     ‘I’m very sorry, Director.’

 

     ‘Sarcasm is not appreciated, Natasha. I honestly believed you had more sense. Have I been wrong all this time?’

 

     ‘Perhaps. You won’t be the first.’ Natasha’s eyes are like steel. ‘I see you cancelled your appointment with that incompetent doctor of yours. What’s the  matter? Are you afraid he’s going to give you bad news? I hate to break it to you, Director, but that _is_  his job. To give bad news.’

 

     ‘Spare me your insufferable attitude.’

 

     Natasha chuckles. ‘If I’m so insufferable, then why did you give me your spare house key?’

 

     ‘Would you like to return it?’

 

     Natasha doesn’t answer.

 

     Peggy acknowledges this.

 

     ‘What compelled you to jump out of a building, pray tell?’

 

     ‘What other choice did I have? Despite what you say, Director, I knew exactly what I was doing. There was a higher change of my success than failure when I tried to grab the helicopter. At least I was right. Can’t you just shrug your shoulders and let it be? What is it you British say? Keep calm, carry on?’

 

     ‘And what would have happened if you fell?’

 

     ‘Uh, I would've  _died_ , I guess?’

 

     ‘Yes. An absolute embarrassment for all of us, and for you.’

 

     ‘Oh, I see. I do like how you turned this around so it’s all about publicity, than the actual job itself.’

 

     ‘By all means, Natasha, sit in my place, and try and keep this establishment going at the rate it is. You wouldn’t last a day.’

 

     ‘Nah. Too boring. I like to use my legs.’

 

     ‘Indeed.’

 

     Natasha is smiling. An amused smile, one which irritates Peggy to an extreme amount. Natasha thinks she’s winning, and maybe she is, but Peggy isn’t the type to sit back and let her agent bask. 

 

     ‘As always, we will keep a close eye on you. You’re dismissed.’

 

     ‘How gracious of you.’

 

     ‘Careful.’

 

     The Black Widow rises, aware of Peggy’s eyes on her back while she walks over to the door. Peering over her shoulder, Natasha raises a brow, ‘What were the four words your doctor wanted you to remember?’

 

     Effortlessly, Peggy recounts. ‘Truck, house, bird, ladder.’

 

     ‘Interesting.’

 

     ‘How so?’

 

     Natasha opens the door. ‘I’m sure you can figure that one out.’ She’s gone before Peggy can ask her to explain. 

 

     Setting aside one of her folders, she goes over the four words in her head. Truck, house, bird, ladder. 

 

     Truck: Movement. Going forward. Carrying a heavy amount of objects; responsibilities.

 

     House: Family. Love. Shelter from the storm.

 

     Bird: In flight. Freedom. Sky. A wide, open space to create.

 

     Ladder: Rank. Promotion. Control.

 

     Peggy rolls her eyes. If Natasha honestly believed those four words were chosen deliberately, then she is a silly girl. Peggy is having none of that. She works way past five o’clock, and when her assistant announces he’s going home, Peggy wishes him well. Soon, she’s alone in the building. The cleaner passes her office, and avoids her, leaving the Director to her work.

 

     Eight o’clock arrives.

 

     Peggy stretches her arms out, groaning from the strain in her neck. She curses under her breath. She’s forgotten to eat again. Harry will not be a happy bunny if he finds out his mother is neglecting herself. Yet again. Peggy has been working since seven this morning, and common sense informs her to hurry home to bed. But she just needs to get through this last piece of material, and then––

 

     She whips her head around to the door. A long, elegant figure has stepped through and is now leaning against the frame.

 

     Natasha is out of her Black Widow uniform, now dressed in civilian attire. She has her hair up in a very neat bun, several strands falling down to land on her shoulders. Natasha just watches her, chewing on bubblegum. Peggy cocks a brow. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do?’

 

     ‘Hm.’ Natasha comes further into the room. ‘I don’t know. What beats getting on your nerves for no good reason?’

 

     ‘I can call security.’

 

     Natasha laughs. ‘Can’t frail, old you handle me?’

 

     ‘I fear I may hurt you.’

 

     ‘You care about me that much, Director? My heart is racing.’

 

     ‘Oh, good. She does feel emotion.’ Peggy continues with her work. ‘I highly recommend you spend your evening with somebody more entertaining. I’m busy.’

 

     ‘That’s unusual.’ Natasha approaches the window, opens it, and leans out into the cool, night air. She blows on the bubblegum, until it pops. ‘It’s dark out.’

 

     ‘Mm. For it is night time.’

 

     ‘I’m surprised you can tell, you never leave this place.’

 

     Peggy glances at her. Natasha is busy gazing at the city lights, but she’s conscious of Peggy’s attention. She always has been. Always felt a need to be noticed––at least a little bit––by the founder of _Shield_. As she stands there, Natasha possesses a childish charisma, one of a young lady, still naive about the world, still confused and full of brilliant, adventurous energy which can so easily be shattered.

 

     Without any sort of purpose, Peggy’s eyes follow the outline of Natasha’s figure, the arch in her back as she leans forward; the curvaceous shape of her thighs, and the way her feet balance her. On her tiptoes, bent at a rather awkward angle. Like a ballerina, ready to perform. She focusses on the slight view she has of Natasha’s face, her jawline, her smooth skin, red cheeks and half-shut eyes. 

 

     If Peggy didn’t know any better, she’d say Natasha looks bored.

 

     ‘Tell me those four words again.’

 

     Peggy sighs, and returns to her work. ‘No. It’s absolutely ridiculous.’

 

     ‘Oh, well, tell me how you really feel.’

 

     ‘So far, I have had no problems whatsoever. I find my doctor most patronising towards me.’

 

     ‘Aw.’

 

     Peggy glares at Natasha’s back. ‘If you don’t watch that mouth of yours, _you’ll_ be the one visiting a doctor.’

 

     ‘Don’t let me stop you,’ Natasha grins.

 

     ‘Anyway. I’m _fine_.’

 

     ‘You seem confident.’

 

     ‘I am.’

 

     Natasha twirls around, and smirks at her in the moon’s shadow. ‘Tell me you’re confident once you’ve jumped over your mountain of pride.’

 

     ‘You’re one to talk.’

 

‘Okay.’ Natasha edges towards her desk. She stops an inch away, one hand resting on her hip, the other dangling at her side. Natasha doesn’t really have an expression; she raises her chin and looks downward at Peggy, studying her, as if she were nothing more than a sculpture to be admired. ‘Have you thought about our kiss?’

 

     Peggy furrows her brows, and stops writing. ‘Pardon?’

 

     ‘Do you remember when we kissed?’

 

     ‘To be precise, you kissed _me_ , Agent Romanoff.’

 

     ‘You kissed me back.’

 

     ‘I did not! I––‘ Peggy softens her voice. ‘Your point?’

 

     ‘Your defensive nature only proves otherwise.’ Natasha places her palms onto the desk, and leans across. Her green eyes shine like emeralds, and Peggy can see why they call her The Black Widow. For she is beautiful, seductive, breathtaking. A lonely, yet pretty heart. ‘Do you think you’re too old to think about our kiss? Does your age finally have a hold on you?’

 

     ‘My age doesn’t frighten me.’

 

     ‘How about your own mind? Does it frighten you that you won’t remember me? That you’ll wake up one day, you’ll see me, and you won’t know who I am? How about your little boy? He’ll be heartbroken. Have you even told him about your Alzheimer’s, or are you keeping that a secret from him as well?’

 

     Peggy has shot to her feet, furious. ‘Do not teach me the merits of motherhood, Agent Romanoff.’

 

     ‘I’ve upset you.’

 

     ‘You have stepped out of line.’

 

     ‘Don’t I usually?’

 

     ‘ _Yes_. You continuously cause trouble wherever you go. Placing yourself where you’re not needed.’

 

‘Am I not needed here, Director?’

 

     ‘Don’t act funny with me. I know what you’re doing.’

 

     ‘Tell me, then. What am I doing? I only asked you a few questions. You’re the one who responded so fiercely.’

 

     ‘My private life is not of your concern.’

 

     ‘You make your private life my concern.’

 

     ‘Do I? I apologise. From hereon, consider yourself liberated from my dilemmas.’

 

     Natasha doesn’t react, not the way Peggy wants her to. Always, she’s been able to make her employees quiver whenever they act out of line. She’s always maintained control with her agents, always had them obey her, respect her, even worship her, but Natasha has always been tricky.

 

     Probably because she doesn’t necessarily consider herself an agent of _Shield_. Unlike most other agents, her past taunts her, stops her from her potential, forbids her from ever walking into happiness. Natasha may criticise Peggy’s fear about the future, but Peggy knows Natasha shudders at the very idea of love, of family, of sharing a household with a partner and raising children.

 

     Natasha just watches her, eyes glazed over with a sort of  _deadness_. There is nothing in her eyes; they have lost their seductiveness. She is no longer alluring Peggy to her, no longer trying to tease her. She’s challenging Peggy. Stabbing at her weakest spots, the parts in her body which _bleed_ at the faintest touch. 

 

     Then her eyes drop to Peggy’s lips.

 

     A deliberate gesture.

 

     Peggy frowns, places her hands behind her back. ‘You have distracted me long enough––' Natasha smoothly raises her gaze to meet hers, and her emerald eyes are soft, almost angelic. Peggy is stumped for a moment, but she quickly recovers, ‘––so please leave. I want you out.’

 

     ‘I refuse to leave the building without you. You need your sleep, Director Carter. The paperwork will still be here tomorrow.’

 

     ‘Did you hear me, agent? Leave.’

 

     ‘Make me.’

 

     Peggy clenches her jaw, and her eyes are so dark and warm in this light, Natasha struggles to tear her gaze away. So, they stare each other down, as if expecting the other to pounce, to lash out, to break their bones. Neither do. Natasha doesn’t mean any harm against Peggy. Not anymore. 

 

     ‘I’ll throw my paperweight at you.’ Natasha cocks a brow. ‘It will hurt.’

 

     ‘I hope your aim is good.’

 

     ‘Would you like to find out?’

 

     She can see her youth, the Agent Carter who used to walk the halls of the SSR. Young and beautiful––still very much the same, except her experience and years have started to show. Her battle wounds, the blood she has spilt, the men and women she has been ordered to shoot. It’s all there. Every memory that she will lose one day, and Natasha is in awe at the woman before her.

 

     ‘You failed to answer my question,’ Natasha says. ‘Have you thought about our kiss?’

 

     Peggy’s response is blunt. ‘Never.’

 

     ‘You’re a terrible liar,’ Natasha smirks. ‘I am very sorry it happened.’

 

     ‘You shouldn’t be,’ Peggy replies. ‘We all let our guard down every now and again. You’re no different, even if you insist otherwise. And you’re not sorry, Agent Romanoff. You never were.’

 

     Natasha doesn’t deny this. 

 

     ‘I was worried,’ she admits.

 

     ‘I know. It was rather endearing, actually.’

 

     ‘I don’t do that.’ Natasha averts her gaze, but not out of timidness. ‘Let my guard down. Not _usually_.’

 

     ‘That I know as well.’ Peggy has turned to her messy desk, far from a reflection of her work ethic. She eyes the clock on the wall. It’s nearly nine in the evening, and she hasn’t progressed at all with her work since Natasha stepped inside. Looking back at the Russian, she offers a smile. ‘Walk home with me,’ she says, more as an order than a choice. 

 

     ‘I’m not one to help the elderly cross the road.’

 

     ‘Well, lucky for you, I don’t need help.’ Peggy walks behind her desk,and begins piling her work away. She looks at her sharply. ‘And I am _not_ old. Thank you.’

 

     Natasha smiles knowingly. ‘Apologies, Director.’

 

     ‘Although I may require some assistance in crossing the road. People drive so fast these days.’

 

     'Because you’ve always been sensible behind the wheel.’

 

     When all of her work is neatly set aside, Peggy switches off her lamp, shoves on her coat, grabs her handbag, and walks out of the office with Natasha at her side. They leave the building, their heels hitting the ground, announcing their powerful presence. Fading into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

     Natasha doesn’t crave affection, safety, protection. Human obsessions. She was trained, at a disturbingly young age, to defend herself. Taught that the only person in the entire world who could keep her safe was she, herself. Only _she_ was good. Only _she_ could handle it. Only _she_. And that was how it went. Through training and from the first day The Red Room despatched it’s prime operative: her. A cold, senseless and focussed life. Narrowed down to a simple mission.

 

     Yet, love has embraced her in the most brutal manner. With sharp claws, tender lips, and frenzied lovemaking. A human trait, is love. A tragic one. Love isn’t like the fairytales her fellow students whispered, chained to their bunks, innocent and ready to be carved into angels from Hell. The rejected warriors from God’s Kingdom, thrust down to the very heat of the earth; destined to burn for an eternity. Natasha has tried to reach that Kingdom, again and again, failing each time.

 

     She doesn’t fly high enough.

 

     Her wings can only carry her so far.

 

     Before she comes tumbling down, a spear through her heart.

 

     In her long, taunting life, some people have offered her that affection. That safety. And that protection. Stupid people. Damaged people. People who want to be loved. The world is a sad place, and humans cling to anything that makes them feel the tiniest bit worthy. In her long, taunting life, she has loved too. Deeply. She has loved and she has always loved.

 

     Peggy respects her silence, and if there were a million people talking around them, Natasha would still only hear the quiet they share. As has always been the case, she enjoys Peggy’s company, her wisdom, her warm voice. Peggy, too, has provided her with safety, but not the usual kind. Peggy’s safety is her own home. An open door. A roof to collapse beneath before it all gets a bit too much. Because even the hardest of warriors surrender.

 

     They both know that.

 

     Christ, do they both _know_ that.

 

     She wonders if the open door will still be there when Peggy is gone, or if Natasha will have forgotten about her by then. She wonders if this is so wise, following the founder of _Shield_ back home. Because what intention does she have? What does she want from Peggy? What does she _really_ want from a woman who has mothered two children? What does she want from a woman who has stepped into matrimony, and allowed it all to crumble at her feet?

 

     Does she want her?

 

     Does she need her? Just for today? Just for tonight?

 

     Does she just require her company? A bed for the evening? Is Peggy her source of _humanity_? Does Peggy remind her that one can have the weight of the world on her shoulders, but can still merge with the rest of the innocents? Does Peggy remind her what imperfection is really about? 

 

     Natasha doesn't know what she wants.

 

     Her fingertips brush across Peggy’s arm. She imagines her embraces, how firm, yet soft they are. And Natasha is confused. She has tried to avoid love, and, somehow, she has willingly stepped into it again. Even if this love may last a few months. Until Peggy’s mind erases it. Pulls the memory of Natasha out of her head. _Rips_ Natasha’s face to shreds until there is nothing left but ash and dust and the silent whisper of what once was.

 

     All of that, everything they’ve had––their comradeship, friendship, everything––gone to waste.

 

     Peggy escorts Natasha to her front door, but stops immediately when she reaches the step. Natasha senses it first: another presence. A distinctive smell. She then looks towards the door, to find it is unlocked, and foolishly left ajar. Immediately Natasha’s vision narrows, and she knows exactly how to play this game. Somebody has intruded the Director’s home and the intruder’s intentions are pretty clear. This is not the first time Peggy’s home has been broken into.

 

     ‘There may be more than one,’ Peggy says.

 

     Natasha is aware.

 

     ‘You can wait out here.’ Peggy remembers who she’s talking to. ‘Never mind.’

 

     ‘I thought you needed assistance in crossing the road.’

 

     ‘Ah, but this isn’t a road, my dear.’

 

     Natasha steps past Peggy. They agree it best she enter first, as she is far more aware of her surroundings. Peggy’s age has effected her slightly in that regard. However, Peggy is right behind her when Natasha steps into her home. All of the lights are off. Everything is the same. How it should be. A framed photograph of Peggy’s oldest son, James, is on the table near the door. He must be around fourteen years old in the picture. Grinning at the camera, dressed in shirt and tie. 

 

     That grin is very familiar. 

 

     Natasha is silent. Deadly. She’s camouflaged in the darkness, and moves so smoothly, she’s like a snake. Peggy, on the other hand, only has her SSR training and while her combat and stealth abilities are not one to be reckoned with, she’s not as impressive as Natasha. Peggy hasn’t retrieved her handgun, Natasha notes, but it all makes sense when somebody appears behind her, presses the snout of his pistol to the back of her head. Natasha disappears out of sight, unnoticed.

 

     ‘Don’t move,’ he says. ‘You took your time getting home.’

 

     ‘I apologise for the inconvenience. I was busy making a living,’ Peggy replies, calm and collected, despite having a _gun_ pointed at her. 

 

     Three other men appear, weapons in their hands. 

 

     ‘Where is it?’

 

     ‘Where’s what?’ Peggy asks.

 

     ‘Don’t play stupid, old lady. You know what I’m talking about.’

 

     Peggy doesn’t appreciate the “old lady” comment. Not one _bit_. ‘I’m afraid I don’t, otherwise I would have told you.’

 

     ‘The card. The weapon. You have it hidden somewhere.’

 

     ‘I honestly haven’t the slightest clue what you gentlemen are talking about. Do you truly think I’d hide a _weapon_ inside my own home?’

 

     ‘She’s lying!’

 

     Peggy sighs. ‘Oh, really, now. I am quite tired, and would much rather we discussed this like civil people.’ She cocks a brow. ‘How about we talk this through over a nice cup of tea? No need for violence, gentlemen.’

 

     ‘You’re really pushing it, Carter. Hand it over or we’ll shoot.’

 

     ‘By all means, shoot me. That won’t lead to any undesirable consequences, will it?’

 

     The man in front gulps. True. Shooting the Director of _Shield_ will not win him any favours. Still, he doesn’t like her tone, and the fact she is mocking him.  Subtly so, as the British do, but she’s still mocking him. Peggy isn’t scared at all. In fact, she’s bored. She’s _bored_. He growls, shoving the gun to her face.

 

     ‘How about we discuss this now?’

 

     Peggy rolls her eyes. ‘I am _tired_.’

 

     ‘Like I give a shit. Come on. Let’s talk it over. It’s not as if you can walk away.’

 

     ‘Why not?’

 

     He snorts. ‘Well, look at you. Just have to push you and your bones shatter––' He screams when Natasha whips past, twisting his arm at a horrific angle. 

 

     Peggy kicks him in the groin, swivels around and elbows the other man in the face. Natasha is agile, frighteningly fast as she targets the other two men. None of them are prepared, and when Peggy punches her opponent square in the jaw, knocking him out cold, Natasha has already dealt with her victims. 

 

     That was far too easy.

 

     ‘Daft twerp,’ Peggy mumbles, reaching for her telephone. ‘Agent Romanoff, if you would be so kind as to tie these gentlemen up, so my agent has an easier task of taking them away.’

 

     Natasha happily obeys. Once Peggy is finished talking to her agent, who will arrive in less than a minute, Natasha ties the last man up and turns her attention to the older woman. Her eyes immediately catch sight of the blood at Peggy’s collar. Taking Peggy by slight surprise, Natasha takes one step to her and inspects the blood, running her thumb across it. Peggy sees the problem.

 

     ‘Ah.’

 

     ‘Is this yours?’ Natasha doesn’t wait for an answer. Without Peggy’s consent, she unbuttons the Director’s shirt slightly and sees the damage. ‘Your stitches are torn. You must have pulled them.’

 

     ‘Bugger,’ Peggy mutters, ‘Thank you, Natasha. I’ll clear myself up. Do help Agent Thompson when he arrives.’

 

     ‘Do _you_ not need any help?’

 

     ‘Didn’t you hear? I’m an old lady. I can take care of myself.’

 

     Natasha allows a smile. She watches Peggy walk down the hall towards her bathroom, before Natasha drags the men closer the door. One of them stirs, to which she knocks him over the head with the butt of his gun. As Peggy said, Agent Thompson arrives, and Natasha is a bit surprised to find he’s around Peggy’s age, white hair, dressed very smartly.

 

     They shake hands, and Natasha supplies him with a fake name. She points at the four intruders. Agent Thompson comes inside and two other agents follow. The ordeal is speedy, no mess, and no fuss. These men will be interrogated and most likely locked behind bars. Natasha is curious as to why they were here, and what they meant by “the card” Peggy has allegedly stored away. Once Agent Thompson has left, she heads to Peggy’s bathroom.

 

     ‘Director?’ She calls. No answer. Natasha knows better than to disturb Peggy’s privacy, so waits outside the bathroom door, knocking again. ‘Director, they’ve been and left.’ Still nothing. Natasha looks at the door, knocks harder in case Peggy can’t hear her (but Peggy has always had acute hearing). ‘Are you all right?’

 

     She gets impatient and opens the door.

 

     ‘Margaret?’

 

     It wasn’t just Peggy’s stitches which had been torn open. Blood drips to the floor, and a long cut across Peggy’s abdomen has reopened. The Director is currently trying her best to stop the bleeding by pressing a towel to the wound. She’s both anxious and annoyed Natasha has barged in.

 

     Natasha ignores her expression and instantly hurries over. 

 

     ‘I assure you it is nothing.’

 

     ‘Certainly looks that way.’ Natasha peels back the towel to see the damage. Fortunately, the wound is clean; it just needs covering up. The bleeding is a bit of a problem, though. ‘When did this happen?’

 

     ‘Oh, some time ago.’ Peggy winces. ‘It only needs restitching. Pass me the needle and scissors, will you?’

 

     Natasha grabs them. ‘I’ll do it,’ she says.

 

     ‘That’s not necessary. I’m perfectly capable––'

 

     ‘Director?’

 

     ‘Yes?’

 

     ‘Be quiet.’

 

     Peggy closes her mouth, and pouts. Natasha has stitched wounds her entire life, and while the blood is a bit of a nuisance, she manages to restitch Peggy’s injury with no problems. As she busies herself, Natasha's eyes are quick as they dance to each faint scar across Peggy's tummy. Ghosts of her past. The cesarean scar is inches from Peggy's reopened wound. Natasha doesn't study it, but it is a startling reminder of Peggy's motherhood. The inevitable guilt Peggy endured knowing she could not give birth to her child the way most mothers wish they could.

 

     The irrational guilt of a mother. The type of guilt women like Natasha cannot relate to.

 

     Peggy is impressed with Natasha’s gentle touch. She concentrates on the needle, and not once does Peggy react to the sting. They’re both accustomed to physical wounds; the battle is nothing to them.

 

     ‘What did they want?’ Natasha queries, cutting off the thread.

 

     ‘A weapon. It’s shaped more like a disc, than a card. One of the late Stark inventions.’ Natasha looks up at her. Peggy’s gaze is downward, and there’s a hint of sadness in her voice. She buttons her blouse when Natasha is done. ‘Thank you. You make quite the nurse.’

 

     ‘What does it do?’

 

     ‘What?’

 

     ‘The disc.’

 

     Peggy inhales, turns to the sink to wash her hands. ‘You slot it into a computer and it destroys everything within a four-hundred mile radius.’ Natasha cocks a brow. ‘Don’t get any ideas.’

 

     ‘Not really my style, anyway,' she replies, pouring water over her bloody hands.

 

     ‘Needless to say, the blasted disc is not here. As if I’d keep something like that in my own home! Criminals these days. They just don’t put enough thought into their work as they used to.’

 

     ‘Mm-Hm. Not like it was in your day. Which was a very long time ago.’

 

     Peggy gives her a pointed look. ‘Make another comment about my age, then there will be trouble.’

 

     Natasha grins. Both women clear away the blood, the medical supplies and Peggy studies the scar at her neck in the mirror. Fortunately, her reopened injury is not bleeding anymore, and it won’t need stitching. Natasha silently comes over, wets a flannel, and gently presses it to the wound. She carefully clears the dry blood, and her young, beautiful face is so close.

 

     Like Peggy promised, nothing has changed between them. The years, the physical years, have not formed a gap between them, but during intimate moments like these, when they can see each other properly in the light, it really does dawn on them how fast their lives have gone. It felt like only yesterday when Peggy first met Natasha on a mission, resulting in Natasha knocking her out, only to be caught by the woman herself hours later.

 

     Peggy is watching her. Natasha can feel it. And it’s comforting, reassuring. During these moments, when it’s just her and Peggy, Natasha does feel so very safe. To a ridiculous amount. She doesn’t view Peggy as her protector, but at least she knows Peggy is more than capable of keeping monsters and cruel men out of the house. That is what her home is: a refuge, her retirement. 

 

     Their gaze meets, and Peggy smiles. It is remarkable how gracefully Peggy has aged. 

 

     Natasha finishes cleaning the blood. She rinses out the flannel, turns back to her.

 

     ‘Please don’t tell anybody about...' Peggy waves her hand dismissively.

 

     She’s referring to Stark’s weapon. Natasha nods. ‘I won’t.’ 

 

     ‘Tea, dear?’

 

     Natasha raises her brows. Tea. Sometimes, Peggy does come out with really random invitations. ‘Okay.’ 

 

     ‘Are you all right, my darling? You look pale.’

 

     ‘So do you,’ Natasha remarks. ‘I’m fine,’ she adds sharply. ‘I just hope you don’t have problems like this often.’

 

     ‘Well, I _should_ change my lock.’

 

     ‘Or move?’

 

     ‘Goodness, no. I’ve had enough of that.’ Peggy comes past, and Natasha follows her into the kitchen where she prepares their tea. Leaning against the counter, Natasha idly picks up another photograph. This one is in black and white, of a younger Peggy Carter and a pretty lady beside her, dressed in what looks like diner uniform. Natasha cocks her head to the side. ‘Oh.’

 

     She looks up when Peggy walks over.

 

     She has a vague smile on her face. ‘That…’ Peggy stops at arm’s length, eyes on the photograph. ‘I do miss her.’

 

     Natasha studies the other lady. ‘Who is she?’

 

     ‘Her name is Angie. A very dear friend of mine.’ Peggy swallows. ‘She was…’ Natasha looks at Peggy again. The older woman has gone quiet, tense all over, eyes still on her photograph. Her smile quivers, and she turns away to pour their tea. ‘She meant a lot to me.’

 

     ‘I can tell.’

 

     Peggy smiles sadly. ‘I lost her.’

 

     ‘How?’

 

     ‘She was shot.’ Natasha is still. She doesn’t blink, seemingly unnerved. ‘When I was a young agent, I always held this belief that I was–– _cursed_. Anybody I grew close to were either taken from me, or they left me. The vast majority fell into the former category.’ Peggy’s hand trembles as she takes out the teabags. ‘Losing her was… I didn’t think I’d recover.’ 

 

     ‘I’m sorry.’

 

     ‘You needn’t be, my dear. It was some time ago now.’

 

     ‘Did you love her?’

 

     Peggy stops. 

 

     Natasha knows she has treaded onto very fragile ground. She can feel the weight of Peggy’s pain, the fact this very discussion makes the poor woman’s heart break all over again. 

 

     ‘Yes,’ Peggy’s voice wavers. ‘I lost four loved ones in a row. The good Captain––' She smiles faintly. ‘––my roommate, her and then Howard.’ Peggy needs to pause for a moment. Natasha gives her space. But Peggy is strong, she’s coped with the pain already and moved on––as best as she can. So, she raises her head, and continues. ‘I was terrified when I met my husband. When my first child arrived, you can imagine how I felt.’

 

     ‘You thought you were cursed?’ Natasha asks, returning the photograph.

 

     Passing Natasha her tea, Peggy presses her mug to her chest. ‘Of course I did. I still do to a degree.’

 

     ‘You’re not cursed,’ Natasha says abruptly. ‘I know cursed, Margaret, and you aren’t.’

 

     ‘You’re a sweetheart.’ Natasha flushes a little. ‘When I saw you hanging from that wretched helicopter, I was terrified you’d fall. I know better than to underestimate your abilities, Miss Romanoff, but I was scared.’ She twitches a smile, gaze cast downwards. ‘I didn’t want you to be another.’

 

     Natasha blinks, and her heart skips a beat. 

 

     Another?

 

     ‘You don’t need to worry about me, Director.’

 

     ‘That’s what they said,’ Peggy laughs lightly. Now, the tears start to appear, but they don’t escape her eyes. Just lingering reminders of her agony; her failing to save those she loved most. ‘I still worry.’

 

     Natasha says nothing.

 

     ‘But… I suppose you’re not quite like them,’ Peggy sips her tea. She taps her finger over the rim of her mug. Her eyes flash to Natasha’s. ‘You’re more like me. Capable of being alone. I think––' She pauses, recollecting her thoughts; thinking if it’s wise to continue. ‘I think some people are simply meant to be alone, Natasha.’ She chuckles, but there’s no humour. ‘You can see for yourself that I’m one of those people.’

 

     It doesn’t make sense! Peggy––meant to be alone? Peggy––one of the most loving and compassionate individuals Natasha has had the honour of knowing? Not Peggy. Not Peggy Carter. 

 

     ‘That’s bullshit,' Natasha's frustration causes her Russian accent to colour her words.

 

     It's the first time Peggy has heard her this way. And there's a sense of ferocity behind it; Natasha's Russian heritage leaks with everything she says, and her barriers are down. Her defence has crumbled away. 

 

     No other beautiful sound has reached Peggy's ears.

 

     ‘I beg your pardon?’

 

     ‘I said that’s bullshit. You’re only alone because you want to be. You feel safer that way. It’s easier for you.’

 

     Peggy doesn’t object. She squints her eyes. ‘And you, Natasha? Are you any different?’

 

     ‘No, Director, I am not, although I try to be.’

 

     ‘I appreciate your honesty.’

 

     ‘I think you should try.’

 

     ‘It’s too late for that.’

 

     ‘I disagree.’

 

     Peggy blinks rapidly, now a little uncertain where this conversation is heading. ‘O-oh?’

 

     Because, really, if Natasha had a choice, she would stay here. She would stay under this roof, watch over Peggy until the Alzheimer’s kills her. She would live with her. There’s nobody else she’d rather be with. 

 

     And when Peggy’s Alzheimer’s progresses to the point where she remembers nothing, then Natasha will play along. She’ll pretend. She’ll live in her memory, she’ll be whoever Peggy wants her to be.

 

     That’s how Natasha has always lived. As somebody else.

 

     Except, at least this time, she could pretend with a smile.

 

     ‘I’m going to kiss you now.’

 

     Peggy is frozen in place while Natasha crosses the gap between them, brushing her lips over hers. She kisses them. Peggy’s lips are warm, _very_ soft and taste of tea and sugar, with the faintest hint of nicotine from her cigarettes. She smells like lavender, of the perfume she wore since her first days at the SSR. And she kisses as she has always kissed: tender and sweet. 

 

     Once she’s confident that Peggy has no intention to withdraw, Natasha’s hands curl around her waist, drawing her closer. She’s reminded how much smaller Peggy is than she. A woman like her, who reigns the halls of the one the most powerful organisations in the world, with everybody worshipping her. How can somebody so fierce, so passionate and _dangerous_ be so soft, curvaceous and warm to hold?

 

     Peggy’s hands flatten across Natasha’s jacket, and she weakly pulls at her lapels, inviting Natasha to kiss her a little deeper if she wishes. As is everything with Peggy, their kisses are calm, gradual, at a pace both are comfortable with. 

 

     Only to catch her breath, Natasha pulls away, and she feels a very pleasant shudder travel through her body. 

 

     ‘Oh,’ Peggy voices, a little delayed.

 

     Natasha was hoping for more than just an “oh”, but she never really thought how Peggy would react to Natasha kissing her. Well. Now she knows. And it was worth it. Natasha feels tempted to go in for another, but resists the urge. She ignores her heart fluttering wildly in her chest.

 

     The Russian swallows. ‘I can’t believe I did that twice.’

 

     Peggy’s smile is playful. ‘You’re welcome to try a third time. Just in case.’

 

     Just in case Natasha changes her mind. Just in case Natasha leaves. Just in case Natasha is another. Another of Peggy’s lost. But, Natasha is not like the  others. She never was. 

 

     Natasha kisses her, slightly rougher than their previous kiss. Regardless, Peggy is welcoming to her affection. A cool shiver runs down Natasha’s spine when she feels Peggy’s fingers in her flaming, red hair. 

 

     She feels as if she’s flying, flying high into the clouds; free.

 

     Her knees buckle when Peggy retreats. 

 

     ‘Careful, dear. You’re starting to lose your breath.’

 

     Can Natasha be blamed? The younger woman licks her lower lip, and decides to step back. Peggy is still as beautiful and lovely as she’s always been. Natasha drags a hand through her hair, and exhales slowly.

 

     ‘I’d certainly hate to forget this.’

 

     Natasha doesn’t know if Peggy is teasing her or not. She doesn’t know if that was a joke, or a grim reminder about the inevitable. She’s not really sure of anything, of whether this is such a wise idea. Or, if she actually has fallen in love with this amazing woman who’ll one day have her name erased from her pretty mind.

 

     ' _позвольте мне остаться_.'

 

     When Peggy moves over to kiss her cheek, a hand reaching to grasp hers, to keep her close, Natasha knows, at least, that this is the one place she’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to leave this here. While I find Alzheimer's a really fascinating disease, it terrifies me, and for the sake of this story not getting too dark, I'll leave the rest to your imagination. Thank you very much for reading!


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